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He leaves, closing the door with a soft click.
The cold bastard didn’t even have the decency to slam the door like a proper demon.
Chapter Eleven
Nico
I lean on the east side of the clubhouse building, staring at Dante’s text, viciously grinding on sugar-free gums and wishing like hell for a smoke. The last time I had a nicotine craving this bad was three years ago right after I stopped smoking. Not even before my bloodiest battles have I been this fucking stressed out.
He’s a Fed, Nico. Special Agent Quinn. Undercover- organized crime
Un-fucking-believable. Sophie was telling the truth. I knew she was, but damn, a part of me wished like hell she was lying.
Truth be told, I already suspected there was something off about that Cade fucker the moment I overheard him warning Sophie off me. But this! How many surprises does that woman have up her sleeve?
I remember the look in her eyes when I took Pietro’s call. Dante had been calling me all night. He’d sent this text hours ago, but I was too wrapped up in Sophie and her family to read it. But Pietro, I couldn’t ignore Pietro because his soldiers were on sentry duty to this very spot. His snipers were positioned at this location and observing from a distance.
Dread unfurls in my belly as I dial Dante’s number, still somehow hoping like hell he’s got his info mixed up, although I know Dante hardly goes wrong with these things.
“You dropped off the planet for two solid hours, fratello,” he drawls as soon as he picks up. “Just give the clear, and Pietro’s men will drop it down.”
“Right now?” I ask inanely.
Dante’s silence tells me what he thinks of my question. He knows me well, and my ethos is to eliminate every appearance of a threat without hesitation and deal with the fallout after. And the protocol for this degree of fuck up is massive damage, like a fire or an explosion.
“Fratello, we’ve already lost precious time trying to reach you. Pietro’s man has the drop on Quinn right now, and he also has a crew on standby to deal with his fed friends—should they decide to visit tonight.”
Why are these men so fucking efficient? I took an unplanned trip and not only do they have the location surrounded, they’re prepared for a massacre.
When I remain silent, Dante continues. “I hear it’s an old building, with illegal circuit overloads. A fire hazard and a disaster waiting to happen. One alone should do it.”
One explosion, he means.
Fuck.
I can hear the screams and moans punctuating the ongoing events of Mud Night, the drunken shuffling around the yard, and the arguments all the way back in the common room. Sophie is somewhere around here. Maybe catching up with the father she hasn’t seen in four years.
Or snickering with Cade fucking Quinn.
“Pietro’s man says there’s some kind of rowdy activity there,” Dante pushes as though he senses my hesitation. “Sounds like the perfect timing.”
“Yes.” A public orgy seems to be the ideal cover we need to strike. Just like it is the perfect guise for the feds Cade might have tipped off, to casually ‘check out’ what the commotion is all about, ending with my arrest off Chicago turf.
I can always sort my way around the local police crew but not the fucking feds. Especially not out here on the West Coast.
“Nico, what’s the hold-up?” Dante’s voice is low and urgent. Questioning. He doesn’t get my hesitation, considering the magnitude of the threat.
I snap out of it. “Nothing. Tell Pietro’s men to stand by. Once I’m out, drop it.”
“Sweet. And how long’s it going to take to pull your pants on?” Now that we’re back on track, his tone is relaxed and playful again.
“Five minutes, ten tops.”
“Awesome.”
“And Dante?”
“Sì, fratello?”
